


Ordinary People

by not_a_princess



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Espionage!, Moral Ambiguity, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Politics, Time Travel, and other stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 06:21:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_princess/pseuds/not_a_princess
Summary: Letisha Holliday, aka Josephine Freeman, aka the Techie, finds that her life's been going all topsy-turvy since it was saved by a mean-looking dude called Bucky Barnes.Thrust into a world in which time travel, espionage, and attempts on her life are just, regular-ass things, and where the line between magic and science is blurred at best, and our girl realizes that life will never be the same again--or rather, was never the same to begin with.





	Ordinary People

**Author's Note:**

> Oh snap I'm back cause I got inspired by Endgame (but no spoilers tho! yet)...we shall see how this goes.

 

Washington, D.C.

2014

It was her day off. She’d wanted to spend some of it on a nature jog-slash-walk around the Potomac, because she needed to be getting _some_ kind of exercise. No lie, times were hard.  Between work and, well, work, she had very little time to take the time to take care of her body like this. The fitness struggle was real.

Her breaths were short puffs of air as she scrambled along the trail, and she was just about ready to go in for her final sprint before calling it quits when there was a huge, ground-shaking rumble that set her off her balance.

She stumbled and fell, but then held her arms out to catch herself so that she crouched on the pebbly ground. Her whole body’s weight rested on her knees and hands, the rocky texture of the crushed-stone trail pressed into her joints.

 _Oh shit,_ she swore under her breath.

… _What are you supposed to do during an earthquake, again?_

Another stuttering, roaring convulsion of the land. _What the hell is even going on?_ Stumbling, she made her way through the maze of trees to the shoreline by the Potomac, and what remaining breath she had left vacated her at the sight of two colossal aircrafts crashing into the river.

“Oh my _fucking_ god,” she whispered, dumbstruck. “What the hell?” She whipped out her cell phone for some breaking news, a google alert, a tweet, _anything_ that would tell her what the hell was going on.

 _The Collapse of SHIELD,_ she saw as she scanned through the news on Google. _Assassination of Key Members of Government Law- Enforcement Agency._ But nothing, of course, that would clue her in to what was going on around her.

“Okay, _that_ is important,” she conceded. “But nobody’s going to say anything about this big-ass machine-thing that just fell into the Potomac?”

Just as she said it, there was another roaring sound, except it sounded more like a tornado, like a train blaring its horn as it falls from the sky or something equally catastrophic, and it was very close. Too close. She turned around to see a third aircraft just a few yards away from her, just in time for it to hit the shoreline of the river. The crash issued a shock wave that knocked her off her feet and sent her tumbling towards the shore.

She didn’t quite process it when her body entered the water. She’d never learned how to swim, and was too shocked to even make an attempt, and perhaps she also realized unconsciously how futile it would be to flail her arms around uselessly in the strong pull of the river. She’d remembered to hold her breath, or at least she thought she had, but it didn’t seem to matter. All too late, she remembered the news articles about how the Potomac, with its deceptively placid appearance, had claimed dozens of lives in its depths. _I’m about to drown. I’m drowning,_ she realized, finally.

Her vision was going black when two large, strange arms wrapped around her torso.

Was she being pulled further in? she wondered deliriously. _Are there merpeople in the Potomac?_

...What a pitiful last thought _that_ would have been.She opened her eyes to white skin, wet brown hair and blue-gray eyes that, in the span of a few seconds, widened like those of a deer in headlights before hardening. “Get away from here,” growled a decidedly male voice, before the person--presumably the person who’d just saved her life--disappeared, walking off in a direction which she--in her post-brush-with-death hysteria-- couldn’t be bothered to determine. Her lungs burned as she coughed out coarse river water...she would definitely need to go to the doctor, and soon.

But, hey. At least she wasn’t dead.

...

 It could never be said that Letisha Holliday wasn’t a hard worker. It had been mere days since she’d nearly drowned, but here she was, back at work at the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum She was even going the extra mile, enlisting to give tours of the exhibits since there was a shortage of student-volunteer docents, and an influx of attendees.  

Everyone wanted to see the Captain America exhibit, of course, after everything that had happened.

It was apparent that even the Captain himself had paid the Smithsonian a visit, even if it was a break-in with the purpose of stealing his own costume. He was nice enough to return it, though. No one at Air and Space really seemed to mind; they didn't even bother to suspend the old night guard. And Captain America was such a boy scout that he'd put the thing through the drycleaner’s.

Her boss, Dr. Rajendra Mohan “Call Me Raj” Pathak called her to his office the day she returned, having received her polite, characteristically low-key e-mail asking for another day off after almost having drowned in the Potomac, and in response having demanded she take the rest of the month off.

Letisha stayed home for less than a week.

“Go home, Tisha.” he said as soon as she walked into his office. He was standing by the window, in his usual three-piece suit, basking in the morning sunlight and looking over the streets of D.C. while holding a tall-sized cup from Starbucks. Probably an herbal tea, since he preferred not to drink too much caffeine. The tall, dark Brooklyn native was something of a health nut.

Letisha pouted slightly before plopping into one of his office chairs. “But--”

“No ‘buts,’” Raj interjected, taking a seat across from her at his desk. There was another Starbucks cup sitting there that she hadn’t noticed before. He pushed it in her direction with. “PSL.”

“They’re still making these?” Letisha asked with as she gratefully grasped the proffered drink, taking a sip with no small amount of relish.

“Yeah, if you know who to ask,” Raj said, with one eyebrow quirked, “So, anyway? Go home. Or at least, you can stay here if you want, hang out. But no working. And if I even think that I hear you so much as cough, I’m personally escorting you to the emergency room.”

“Raj,” Letisha began reasonably, “it’s been _way_ more than twenty-four hours since it happened. I’m in the clear of dry drowning, if that's what you're scared of.”

Raj pursed his lips together. Most certainly, he was about to flex his psychology and neuroscience degrees. “That may be true,” he allowed. “But nearly drowning is a harrowing experience. Are you okay? Emotionally?”

She was absolutely _not_ okay, and there were plural reasons behind her not being okay; but, there was no way she was telling her boss that. Knowing Raj, he would put her on a forced paid leave. And although he meant well, _that_ wasn’t anything she needed. The few days she went without working, even with her online classes to occupy her, she’d felt antsy and restless. Anxious. She needed to _do_ something.

“I’m good. I promise,” she answered with a reassuring smile.

“I guess that’ll have to do,” her boss answered with a barely-there smile. “even though I still don’t believe you. You’re allowed to stay on the premises; but if I see you trying to give a tour, we’re going to have a problem.”

“Got it, boss,” Letisha saluted with her non-latte hand, already on her way out of the door. Raj closed it behind her.

“Don’t forget--I’m watching you! Security cameras,” she heard him shout through the oak door. Of course.

Forbidden to do actual work, Letisha decided to hang around the exhibits, in search of extra tidbits she could talk about when she gave tours. It didn’t take long for her to gravitate to the Captain America exhibit.

It was even more crowded now, after the collapse of SHIELD, and the fact that he’d evidently saved the lives of a significant portion of the population….The president had been on a kill list sanctioned by a nazi-fied offshoot of a governmental organization, for the love of God.

 _Which,_ how _the_ fuck _did it come to this? If I ever meet Captain America, or anyone who's ever been affiliated with SHIELD I got some questions that need some answers._

It was a very nice exhibit; although it struck Letisha as a bit odd that it would be in the Air and Space Museum. She personally thought it would make more sense in the National Museum of American History, but that was just what she thought. And also her coworkers. And her boss...But whatever. Guess since everyone thought he’d died in an aircraft, they’d put his stuff there.  

After polishing off the rest of her latte, she tossed the empty paper cup into a nearby bin and continued exploring the exhibit. For a hot second, she thought she caught a flash of a familiar face. One thing she prided herself on was her brain: she never forgot most details, a name, a face. She paused in her steps and turned around, noticing another section of the exhibit, and the face that she’d _definitely_ seen before.

On the day she’d near-drowned. On the shore of the Potomac.

Her feet were taking her to the exhibit of their own volition, it seemed, and she was just about completely ignoring all of the people underfoot--most of them weren’t heading towards that section, anyway, so it didn’t matter.

_James Buchanan Barnes._

No--that didn’t make sense. Not Bucky Barnes.

Teammate, partner, and best friend of Captain America, this man had passed away decades ago...but give him longer hair, a five o’clock shadow, and a menacing gleam in his eye, and he was a dead ringer for the man she’d seen who’d dragged her out of the river.

Letisha stared at the image of the young man for a few minutes before walking away. _That is so strange,_ she thought. She went to the McDonald’s downstairs and got a water. She went to one of the gift shops and played around with some buckyballs, before realizing that her life was one big cosmic joke.

She sighed, and actually contemplated going home for a few minutes. She could curl up in her comforter and semi-legally stream old episodes of _Vampire Diaries_ or something, alone in the darkness of her apartment and bored out of her mind.

She didn’t.

Twenty minutes later found her approaching Bucky Barnes again. _Maybe he just has one of those faces._ But, this time there was someone else who was also reading and listening to the fallen soldier’s biographical information. He was young; wore a baseball cap and all dark-colored, nondescript clothing. It seemed as if he was trying to remain anonymous as possible--and what better place to be anonymous than in a crowded museum, Letisha thought--and as she got closer she noticed his facial expression, it was that of a man who’d just seen a ghost.

...Of course, if she had a mirror to look into, she was pretty sure she’d have that same just-saw-something- _crazy_ expression, because the man she’d been spying on looked exactly like Bucky Barnes from the exhibit. She let out a tiny gasp before blinking several times.

Quiet as it had been, the man staring at Bucky’s image had to have heard her gasp, because immediately, he turned around to face her. They held eye contact for a moment and she knew. She _fucking_ knew. It _was_ him, without a doubt. That was the person who'd saved her before walking off into the forest by the river.

She looked back at the photo at the Bucky Barnes who was _supposed_ to be long dead. Or maybe not? The Bucky Barnes who, oddly enough, looked exactly like the guy who’d saved her. Her mind was already making the connection, without her permission. Who cares about logic?

If she weren’t living in a world where aliens had invaded New York City and multi-billionaires side-gigged as superheroes and people like the Hulk _existed_ , she might think it impossible. But as things stood, she was completely willing to suspend her disbelief.

She was also completely willing to leave him alone. Obviously, he wanted to be left alone. She could respect that.

“Too many fucking coincidences for one day, anyway,” she muttered dispassionately, looking down at the floor.

Maybe she _would_ go home, after all. Ian Somerhalder and his smolder were, after all, a very tempting mental image.

_…_

_James Buchanan Barnes._

That was his name. _Was_ that his name?

The annoyingly self-sacrificing and profoundly dedicated Captain America had called him Bucky. Had tried to turn him around. Had said, “I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”

Did he deserve such a friend? Did he _want_ such a friend? Willing to ignore the wrongs and the moral repercussions of his actions...

He walked around, alone, on the National Mall. It was probably a bold move, he figured, to just walk around out and about while there were most likely people from both S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra searching for him, but he found himself hard-pressed to give a shit.

Besides, the best way to hide was in plain sight, right? He was sure that as long as he could keep his metal arm covered and his head down, he wouldn’t attract any attention.

Of course, there was that woman at the museum. The one he’d saved, before. And she had surely, _surely_ made the connection while he had been _so_ foolishly standing in front of his own photograph at the exhibit.

If he wanted to tie up loose ends, he could probably find her and eliminate her, of course. She didn’t even look like a challenge. He could easily snap her in half if he so desired--but _why do that_ , what with the fact that he’d already saved her?

Besides all of that, she was innocent. Countless faces appeared in his mind’s eye. No. If he could help it, no more innocent lives would be lost at his hands.

Besides, even if he _did_ kill her, who’s to say that there aren’t a thousand other people out there who are either old enough to recognize him, or had seen his exhibit at the museum, or had seen his face in a history book or some such thing? It didn’t matter. He was out; he was exposed, like a raw nerve.

And the woman didn't seem too interested in exposing him anyway. After staring at him for a few moments, she had just shaken her head and walked away. So maybe she hadn't believed her own eyes, and that was fine. Or, maybe she did believe what she'd just seen, but couldn't be bothered to do anything about it. Which was not only fine, but also relatable. So, no. Crossing her off was...unnecessary, for his purposes.

And what’s more was that her face was familiar. Familiar, but still strange, in that same way that Rogers’ was. But how was that possible? He entertained the valid possibility that his memories-- and his brain’s ability to process memories--were even more mixed up than he’d thought before. Great. Honestly, his brain malfunctioning is one of the best possible scenarios.

Because, if he _knew_ her, then she should have been, what, ninety to a hundred years old?—and, well, he’s seen some crazy shit, but.

Maybe hiding in plain sight wasn’t such a good idea, after all, he supposed, as daylight slowly began to bleed out around him. Still, he continued to walk aimlessly around the city. He made his way to the Air and Space museum once more but did not enter. It was closed, anyway.

“You’re back.”

 


End file.
